Behind Closed Doors
by Petals Open to the Moon
Summary: "Evil is always possible. And goodness is eternally difficult." (Anne Rice)


"All right," whispered the young woman. _"Steady._ Get ahold of yourself."

She lifted the salver, ignoring the letter on it as best she could. She'd been here several weeks, yet it still seemed as if Gianna had never left. Her cousin was the oldest, boasting seven years to Bianca's youthful nineteen. She was a highly-organized and efficient woman, desired by numerous agencies and firms in Italy… before she accepted a rather mysterious offer about six months ago.

"But where are you _going,_ Gianna?" Bianca had protested over the phone. They were closer than most cousins, given Bianca's father's brotherly affection for his sister, Gianna's mother. "Can you not tell me _where_ it is, at least?" she persisted.

"Use English, Bianca," her cousin's smooth voice responded. "I need to practice."

"Why?" Bianca asked, switching with difficulty. Her command of the language was not as fluent as her cousin's. "Your employer is Italian, is he not?"

"Employers," Gianna corrected. "And yes, they are. I cannot give you any information besides that."

"Well, it seems to me you're being ridiculously evasive about this whole thing," her cousin grumbled. "I can't even visit you anymore."

"We can speak on the phone, dearest, as we are now." She sighed into the receiver. "Can't you wish me luck, Bianca? The work is easy, and the pay is above and beyond what I'd hoped for."

"They are rich, then?"

"I told you I couldn't talk about it."

Bianca had gritted her teeth, holding back frustration. They spoke several minutes longer, chatting uneasily about various topics, but then Gianna was called away on an errand. "They are _very_ impatient," she said, smiling into the phone, then hung up.

That had been half a year ago. Gianna's phone calls had grown less and less frequent, until it was a struggle for her cousin to reach her at all. "I'm busy," Gianna said—a little coldly, Bianca thought. "I just don't have _time,_ Bianca. That is all. It's not you."

There was something wrong. Bianca could feel it. Her cousin had sounded so odd the last few weeks, as if she was daydreaming while talking to her. Sometimes her voice was filled with excitement; others she was downcast and depressed. It was clear she hoped for something—wanted that something verymuch—but her employers were withholding it from her. What was it? Extra pay? Favors? Were they not allowing her to relocate, or even get a new job?

This last thought had frightened Bianca. Suppose—suppose this was more sinister than either of them had previously thought? What kind of boss would not allow his employee to leave a business, anyway? Or was she just overreacting as usual? She longed to call her cousin, set everything to rights, but Gianna was unreachable. Her cell phone was silent.

Gianna's impatient reply had been three weeks ago. Nothing since. Then Bianca's phone _had_ rung, but it was not whom she expected. A strange voice had spoken into the phone, a curiously sweet, woman's voice, asking if she would be willing to fulfill her cousin's position.

"Where is she?" Bianca had demanded.

"On leave," the sweet voice responded. "She's been working so hard, the poor dear. We've been very lucky to have her. You _are_ her cousin, are you not? Call me Heidi."

Bianca had felt outraged, insulted. "Is this some kind of _joke?_ Why didn't she return my calls? And why would I take a job without knowing anything about it?"

Heidi was quick, oh, very quick, to explain. It was a wonderful position, envied by hundreds of other civilians. It was not everyone who was accepted. Her employers were kind, very kind. They were giving her a chance. She should be grateful. The pay _was_ considerable. Bianca's mouth fell open at the mention of it. She had scrimped and saved her whole life—was this really her chance, for however short a time? Gianna may choose not to come back…

The sugary voice droned on. "Gianna tells me you have little experience in this field, but that's quite all right. My employers are willing to try you out. They'll be delighted to meet you, her cousin."

"I'll take it," Bianca gasped, in a moment of weakness. She would regret it later, of course, even after Heidi slipped the first check into her palm. You see, she hadn't known. Not even then. It was a knowledge you acquired _after_ the hiring, and only when you had no chance of leaving.

Vampires. _I don't blame you for leaving, Gianna._

Bianca walked slowly down the dark halls, thinking these thoughts. She stumbled more than once, righting herself with difficulty. _God, I hate these heels,_ she thought with venom. _Gianna_ was the stylish one. _Gianna_ had been the model for five years at that French agency. _Gianna_ would know what to do, how to act. Not her. For the millionth time, she felt pitifully inadequate. The dress was too tight, as well. She'd dreamed of such dresses, of course, but wearing them was quite another matter. The red velvet band encircling her waist was painfully oppressive. Her heels were blistered, no doubt. She felt ridiculous in her pretty, starched curls. But it was necessary.

"The masters don't want mousy little urchins working for them," Heidi had cooed. "They _enjoy_ beautiful women, my dear. You could be so lovely if you just tried."

"Could you help me?" Bianca had pleaded. She remembered how intimidated she'd felt by Heidi and her stunning beauty. Were those _six-_ inch heels she was wearing…?

Heidi had smiled, teeth glittering, then dragged her to an overabundant closet. Minutes later, the young woman was saddled with dozens of expensive vintage goodness, a mind spinning tour, and a room that seemed more like a palace than a mere secretary's residence.

Of _course_ she appreciated it. Who wouldn't? It was the expense of everything that worried her. She wasn't very good at her job; it was growing more and more obvious to her with each week. So why the lavishing of presents? Why keep her on at all?

Bianca paused, giving her feet a moment to rest. The doors—those awful doors—were looming straight ahead of her. She hated that room. She hated going into it, giving the ancient masters weekly updates, and bringing them the occasional note on a shiny salver. As if they were gods in a palace, and she the meager servant.

Which was exactly the case, she thought miserably. Her feet were aching terribly. She remembered the first time she'd entered that room. The ancients had watched her closely, no doubt curious to see how she would react to the grate in the center. She didn't recognize its use. She _still_ didn't. She only remembered falling down on it, caught by her heels in one of the rungs. One of them had laughed, very loudly. It was the dark one; the one she feared the most. He had no scruples in teasing her, and she grew used to it. She was young and inexperienced, and _they_ were—

 _No one should live that long,_ she thought. _No one._ She pushed open the doors, willing courage to seep into her. The room was dim, but she had walked the grate several times now, and was prepared. She walked in the very middle, keeping her heels carefully on the thickest rung. The ancient vampires stared straight ahead, not seeing her until she was in front of the darkest one. She had been told to give it to _him_ only. It made little sense, until she realized just how rarely the other two contributed. They could've been statues, floating in an ethereal stillness.

"Hello, Bianca," whispered her master. His fingers lifted the note delicately from its bearer.

She hid a smile of triumph. She had walked perfectly, without a trace of wobbling. That was a first. She heard a slight cough at the back of the room. Turning, her eyes met Demetri's, a young, strikingly handsome Italian vampire. He stood next to Felix, a big, hulking brute of a creature.

Bianca nodded at the former. She had a soft spot for him; she couldn't help but admit it. But these vampires did not give favors easily. Demetri was cryptic and mocking to everyone, excepting his illustrious masters. He treated Bianca like he would a disagreeable insect. Worse still, he seemed to be fully aware of her attraction, snickering at her behind her back. He ignored her now, staring past her to the three ancients.

 _Some relationship,_ she thought, sighing. She was used to their scorn, with good cause sometimes. Again, she longed for Gianna's cleverness to help her out. Gianna was _wonderful_ with men.

The room was very quiet. Even the walls seemed to wait for the ancient. "Ah!" he exclaimed softly, fingering the creamy paper. "It's from Carlisle!"

He gazed at it a moment longer, scanning the contents. To her chagrin, his eyes flashed upwards, fastening with disconcerting intensity on her face. "… Which is spelt with an 's', _sweet_ Bianca."

His voice slithered over the last few consonants. She shuddered, trying to understand how she'd made such a stupid mistake. It was a simple one, though. Surely not something to fret over? Then again, she never knew when _Signore_ Aro's moods would change. He was unpredictable. Entirely.

She fidgeted nervously before him. She knew better than to apologize. He—no, it was his brother—had snapped at her before, when she'd misdirected a parcel of finely-tailored clothing for the ancients. Now _that_ had been a mistake worth fretting over.

Aro was smiling at her now. "No harm done," he said lightly. "A minor error."

She shuddered in relief, but it was shattered the next moment as Felix and Demetri appeared on either side of her. Had he called his guard forward? She had not seen. Maybe he wished them to escort her out safely?

"Marcus, listen to this," the vampire was saying eagerly. "Dear Carlisle has added a new member to his coven."

The dead-faced ancient brightened a little. ""Ah!"

"Increasing his power?" This snide comment came from Aro's left, where his other brother sat. His pale blonde tresses were combed carefully past his ears, though not half as long as that of his brothers. It made a ghastly contrast, Bianca thought, what with the suit and those horrid eyes blurring in with the yellow. Like Marcus, he ignored her.

"My dear Caius, how perceptive you are," chuckled Aro. He hadn't finished speaking before he glanced up, gazing past Bianca's head.

"Let's go, sweetheart," whispered Demetri, almost in her ear.

She'd turned to him, blushing, when she realized they had both gripped her by her forearms. She flailed out, dropping the salver. It crashed noisily to the stones, dimming her scream as they dragged her, backwards, down the steps.

"No!" she screamed. "No, _per favore!_ No, no—"

Her ankles scraped on the grate, leaving crimson stains on the gloating metal. She continued to scream, sobbing gibberish in both languages. The wretched shoes slipped from her feet. She heard Aro laughing… saw him shaking his head…

"Poor child," he crooned. "First it's the spelling… then the grammar. What next, pray?"

" _No!"_ the poor woman shrieked. "Please, _please_ my lord! Please!"

"Feisty one," Felix rumbled above her. His voice was that of an executioner's, soft and frighteningly deep. She heard it as she heard her own doom, as Demetri leaned closely towards her. Someone held her legs—Felix, perhaps—to prevent her lashing out.

"Gianna!" she gasped. She didn't know why the name, so unbidden, had sprung to her lips. "Gianna!"

Had she seen recognition in Demetri's face? Surprise, maybe? She didn't know, for the next minute his teeth were obstructing everything. They latched onto her dark throat, and in a shattering, bloody moment—she _understood._

The screams ended abruptly.

Marcus was reading the letter. He had paid little attention when Bianca entered; he paid even less now that she was gone. The screams were not music to the vampires, nor were they irritating. They were simply immaterial; an everyday sound, like a bird's call or a tree's whispering is to us.

"So… our dispute with the Cullens is over," he remarked softly. The voice rattled up from the depths. How long was it since this ancient had spoken last?

His brother—Aro—was staring at him. "Over?" he said incredulously. "Over? Goodness, no!"

Caius turned, his beautiful mouth twisting.

His brother was all smiles. "Our dispute goes _far_ beyond the fate of a mere human."

"And what might it be?" Caius demanded.

Before Aro could answer, the doors reopened. Renata entered the room, looking drab and anxious, as always.

" _Bambina!"_ her master called out. "You've missed the happy news, I'm afraid."

She looked at him silently. Her eyes were like empty coffins, opening and closing to reveal nothing.

"The Cullens have embraced yet another newborn, not one week ago."

"That human girl?" she responded sulkily.

"Isabella? Of course. Who else _could_ we be speaking of?" He pressed his hands lightly together, humming with excitement. His eyes fell on the floor. "Oh, and do something about that salver, won't you, darling? And fetch those shoes while you're at it. I should hate for anyone to trip and hurt themselves."

He went on humming, the pitch dancing back and forth merrily. Off to the side, Marcus dreamed of nothing. Caius, on the other hand, was all temper. He had not stopped glaring at the letter since it arrived.

"Aro," he snapped. _"Will_ you pay attention for once?"

"Hm?" his brother turned to him. "What was that, Caius?"

"I asked you what we still owed this family. You have yet to answer."

"The Cullens?"

" _Yes,"_ hissed the voice.

"Why, brother, I thought you understood," Aro said, chuckling at his ignorance. His eyes flamed with a feverish light. "They have something I want."


End file.
